


Poisoned Honey

by IOnlyWriteKinkandFeels



Series: A Gentle Release [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Relationships, And Lots of It, And it costs him a great deal of trust when its over, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dean Whump, Dean Winchester's First Time With a Man, Dean gets lost in the heat of the moment, Dean has no idea what hes gotten himself into either, Dean jumps into a scene too easily, Dom oc, Dubcon Kissing, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gen, Grinding, Heavy BDSM, Hurt Dean Winchester, Jealous Sam Winchester, Older Man/Younger Man, Older male oc, Other, Paddling, Platonic BDSM, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam has no idea what his brother has gotten himself into, Spanking, Sub Dean, Subdrop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-04-17 02:00:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14178102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IOnlyWriteKinkandFeels/pseuds/IOnlyWriteKinkandFeels
Summary: Dean tries to find other partners to scene with and gets himself into a rather precarious situation with an older man who tests his limits in all the wrong ways. Sam doesn't deal with it very well.





	1. Other Partners, But None Like You

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first multi chapter fic of this series, which is best read before this, but it CAN be read alone. It'll just not have as much impact, I think. 
> 
> For this, keep in mind that this has extremely dubious themes and horrible BDSM etiquette, just not in this chapter. Also, I would like requests for the older man's name. He's a bit older than John and a trucker, so I want something that fits and that Sam can make a demeaning nick name out of, if that's not too much trouble.

Sam watched Dean leave late that night, wondering if it'd be like all the others. He'd feel more than hear or see his brother stumble in, kick off his boots, and bury himself under the covers like it was a grave. 

 

He'd been refusing the sessions, guiltily. He'd never meet Sam's eyes, a flush riding over him as he'd shrug it off. Each time Sam would feel more and more useless and dejected, but he couldn't tell Dean that. He was on a downward spiral and dragging Sam with him. 

 

Dean was practically vibrating by the time he'd gotten to the door of the club. He took a breath to calm his nerves before he walked in. He looked around, taking in the scene. Subs and doms everywhere, with a few switches. Some were on stage, putting on a show, others in the crowd or at their own booths and tables. His eyes were drawn to a particular dom and sub on stage, the sub crying out as the dom flogged him properly. They must have been going for a while, the sub was glistening with sweat, chest heaving and voice raw. 

 

The dom was sweating too, under a harsh bright lights of the stage and exertion. He changed instruments, testing out a cane, tapping it gently against his subs bottom and thighs. The sub took a moment to respond, drifting, eyes screwed shut and still panting. The dom pulled the sub up by his waist, the other hand running through his blonde hair. The dom talked him up, hands roaming his hair and pressing his nails gently into the subs back. 

 

The sub gained awareness after a minute or so, limp body clutching onto the shirt the dom wore. Nuzzling into his neck, placing kisses where he saw fit as he presumably begged to continue. Dean couldn't hear, but he didn't need to as the dom agreed to let the scene go on, the crowd cheering as the sub resumed his previous position, ass cherry red and swollen. 

 

“Beautiful, isn't it?” a voice purred, just to his right.

 

Dean turned and did a double take. A woman was at his side, looking every inch of a dominatrix, including having another sub at her feet, naked other than a leash. Her bright eyes twinkled with amusement.

 

“I’m sorry, we were looking for a third, but I take it we got you by surprise.” she grinned.

 

Dean nodded. “What are you into?”

 

“Pain play. And lots of it. Impact, especially. Temperature play, honor and regular bondage, grappling. You?” 

 

“I'm not too experienced. But pain play definitely. Grappling is okay too.” 

 

“You clean?” she asked. “We are.”

 

He nodded. 

 

“Good. Let's go, we'll talk limits in the room.” she winked.

 

It wasn't the worst experience. But it didn't give him what he came for. Instead of going under and feeling himself melt away, he spent most of the night being jealous of the feeling and compassion the dom had for her sub, and vice versa. They were whole by themselves, Dean was only an extra piece. 

 

But that's exactly how it went, no matter what or how he went about it. No one ever made him feel like Sam did. He locked himself in the bathroom when they were done with the room. He felt the tears prick at his eyes, but refused to let them fall. He'd try again later.

 

He'd been bouncing around from kink club to kink club for about three months now, and refusing Sam for about three weeks. He thinks maybe he'll cave tonight after all. Maybe Sam won't mind.

 

He drives home, the entire ride gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline. It's about one, so at least he knows Sam is still awake. The brother in question is pouring over research when Dean comes in. They don't even have a case yet and he's already trying to expand that big brain of his. He glanced up from his laptop. 

 

“Hey.” he says.

 

Dean nods. He doesn't have any marks. He could ask. He swallows thickly around his own pride as he takes off his shirts, gazing at Sam with desperate, pleading eyes.

 

The motions catch Sam's eye immediately. A flood of relief washes over him, and he can see it for Dean too at getting this attention.

 

Sam was already moving his laptop haphazardly to the side, hungry.

 

Dean couldn't even think. He just wanted. He wanted oh so badly. He eyed Sam, looking up at him through his lashes, wordlessly pleading, expression open and trusting and he ripped the final shirt over his head.

 

Neither brother judged the other, both over eager for the chance to connect again. Sam was already crossing the distance between them with determined strides. Dean was equally quick to put himself on his stomach on the bed, words slipping away. He accepted the sturdy weight of Sam sitting on him with a fine appreciation and familiarity. 

 

Sam could see no real bruises, just ghosts of the ones he never got to touch. Didn't stop him from digging his fingers into them with fervor though. Dean reacted as though they were fresh, even. He buried his fingers deeper as Dean hissed. It was clear he was trying not to arch up into the sensation, which amused sam, in its own way. 

 

Dean was already losing himself. It'd been too long. His words were far away, maybe even completely out of reach. He was already losing control and they just barely started. He didn't know he was arching until Sam chided him for it.

 

“If you want it, ask. Don't make me really hurt you.” 

 

“Sam.” Dean slurred urgently. 

 

It was petulant, and a plea as he pressed himself into the mattress to keep himself from arching. He wanted. He needed. His mouth felt so heavy and it was so much  _ effort  _ but Sam just clawing at him wasn't enough. 

 

“Wheel.” he felt himself growl, deep in his chest.

 

Sam got off him, and for the moments they were separated, Dean felt like he was thrown off the deep end. His eyes snapped open, he couldn't even think, it was so disorienting. He swallowed, once, twice, to calm himself, get rid of the sudden dry mouth.

 

Then suddenly everything was safe. He felt his eyes slipping closed again without his permission as Sam came back to straddle him. A soft sigh slipped from him before he could stop it.

 

Sam felt Dean melt as he sunk his weight down onto him. He'd only been gone about ten seconds, but a part of him couldn't help but feel pleased. Sam wasn't the only one who missed this. 

 

He doesn't know why Dean has been adamant to ignore him. He assumes it's just a relapse of shame, mostly, or even the fact that his first drop is still fresh in their minds. Sam never really got it out of his head, and he  _ knows  _ Dean won't ever forget badmouthing John that way. What did he mean? Did Dean think he wasn't as capable as him? 

 

Sam frowned at the thought. Maybe John didn't recognize Dean as the smart man that he was, but that was his loss. Sam knows his brother is smarter than he let's on, and anything he doesn't know his gut fills in for him. He knows the lore better than Sam does, maybe even John.

 

Even if they're both atrocious at getting their feelings across, they've always been proud of one another for their respective accomplishments. 

 

He runs the wheel over Dean's shoulder carefully, watching little red pinpricks pop up in its wake with a certain fondness. A soft hum in reply from Dean.

 

He trails it over to the remaining shoulder, left hand on Dean's spine as they both take in a deep breath. A perfect harmony for a fleeting moment; a hold, an exhale. Sam wonders if he feels bad about it on John's behalf. The Yellow Eyed Demon turned them all into this. There's no going back when you know that things creep in the dark. He knows that for fact. 

 

Dean is Sam’s world now. The only one he can trust, after Jess died. He didn't trust John, not the way you trusted someone who you didn't have to. He trusted him like a hunter. But not like a father. Not like Dean wanted to so badly. Dean has always needed an intimacy John and the girls he hooked up with couldn't give him. On some level Sam thinks they all knew it, at least just a little, that John didn't do them justice. Sam was just more willing to face it.

 

He pressed down harder with the pinwheel, a smirk of adulation spreading on his lips as he watched Dean bristle and shake to avoid arching into it. He did it again, curiously watching as Dean clenched the sheets to still himself. Pleased with himself, Sam drug his other hand down the path of the wheel, nails clawing enough to leave raised welts in their wake.

 

Dean deflated, a wave of tension released itself from him all at once. He hadn't known he'd been holding on to any. It didn't matter. He couldn't concentrate on anything to articulate what he was feeling. No words, just sensation and relief. He was drifting, and it was blissful, finally. 

 

Sam let Dean soak up his afterglow for about twenty minutes on the virtue that he basked in his own on accident. He felt powerful. He felt helpful. He felt  _ equal.  _ All of his life he'd been below Dean.  _ Just  _ little Sammy who needed protection. Sam knew his brother had a strong protective instinct, it was drilled into him since the fire. He still took the beds closest to the door in hotels. He drove. He carried all 6’4 of him when he was injured. Looked after him when he was sick. It made Sam feel protected and loved, but also lesser.

 

But with this thing they'd been doing, it felt like finally Sam was giving back some of what he'd taken from Dean. Like he was  _ actually  _ giving something back to Dean himself, instead of only being good at pulling his weight when it came to hunting. It was an indescribable high, like what he'd felt when he wanted to become a lawyer. That righteousness and passion of helping others who couldn't help themselves.

 

Dean let out a whimper beneath him, drawing his attention back to the present in an instant. “Sa- _ am. _ ” he begged, breath hitching on a barely contained needy growl. 

 

He needed more.  _ He needed more, Jesus fucking hell he  _ wanted  _ so bad.  _ If he could say more he'd probably be a mess of blubbering drunk babbles. There's no more pride in this. No more pretending he doesn't need it. Doesn't crave it. 

 

Sam kneaded at the pinpricks in reply, occasionally giving a vicious pinch where the taut skin of Dean’s back allowed it. He could feel Dean's breathing speed up occasionally, even just see the way sweat started to gather at his back, already on his neck. By the way he sometimes shook, the bottom of the bed must be sufficiently damp. God, it felt too  _ right.  _

 

But eventually Dean settled. Stopped moving, stopped sweating, stopped making those soft little noises that urged Sam on. It was slow enough that Sam didn't notice immediately, but once he had, nothing else mattered. 

 

“Dean?” he called. 

 

No response. Not even a twitch. 

 

“Dean.” Sam tried again, pressing a hand to Dean's neck, administering a gentle squeeze.

 

The older Winchester’s eyes fluttered just briefly. Something nagged at him, that peaceful completeness he felt was too inviting. He didn't want to go back, it'd been forever since he'd felt good at all. Sam's fingers on his neck prodded at him, demanding his attention, a beacon back. 

 

He felt himself give another whimper as he began to come back to himself. When he finally opened his bleary eyes, he was met with Sam staring at him from his own bed. 

 

“You good?” he asked, tone dripping with worry and empathy.

 

Dean squinted as he lifted himself to sitting position. “huh?” he croaked in confusion, voice hoarse.

 

“You were completely unresponsive for almost a whole half hour.” Sam supplied as he grabbed a Gatorade from the night stand to shove into Dean's hands. “You need fluids.”

 

Dean frowned a moment as he twisted open the cap. “You serious?” 

 

“Of course I am. I think you went deeper than ever. While you were out I patched you up. You didn't even twitch.”

 

A blush rose to Dean's cheeks, ears, and neck. How...embarrassing. 

 

Sam didn't skip a beat before continuing. “You had a cold sweat for a while but it seemed to clear up itself. But seriously dude, drink up.” he nodded to the hardly sipped container.

 

Dean obeyed after a shrug, his entire posture indicative of a “why not.” 

 

“Why did you stop?” Sam asked suddenly.

 

Dean didn't have an answer. “I'm not ashamed.” was all he could say after a terse stretch of silence.

 

“That's progress.” Sam said with a measured breath.  _ But not the reason.  _ Was left unsaid. 

 

Dean took another sip, to think. “But I don't think doing this with you is the best idea. So I've been finding my own partners. They're short term, obviously, but I think it's better for us.” he replied, voice rugged with the tension. 

 

Sam felt himself deflate. “How's that working out?”  _ Why did you go that deep if you've got other partners?  _ He clamped down on the thought before it escaped him.

 

Dean shrugged, lying through his teeth. “Like what we do, but hot?” 

 

Sam rolled his eyes, a lie of his own rolling from his tongue. “Glad it's going well. Get some rest.” 


	2. My Brother's Carer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with the drop headon, and a little bit of whump?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter is short and pretty simple. By the next one well have Dean up and ready to kick monster butt, but I didn't want to miss an opportunity to show some brotherly moments.

The next day both brothers felt like they'd been hit with a rather unpleasant turn of events. Or an 18 wheeler.

Sam was just short of broody, watching over Dean as he slept in.  _ He doesn't want me.  _ Rang in his head. It hurt. More than it should have, honestly. Why was he making such a big deal about it if there's people out there who can help him and not make him feel gross about it? And if he can get it pretty frequently, that's a definite bonus.  _ Besides,  _ it isn't like Dean is saying he wants them to stop living and hunting together. He doesn't want to stop being Sam  _ and  _ Dean. 

He frowned deeply at Dean's dozing form, checking for fever the 12th time that night. He felt rejected. It was dumb, like he was ditched for prom after renting a limo. A soft sigh lead him to calm down, and cease the offending train of thought.

Dean woke with a headache and a feeling of dread. He groped blindly for the Gatorade from last night, his mouth cottony and soured from morning breath. He let out a frustrated grunt when he found nothing but air. Damn it all to hell then.

Just as he cut his losses, a hand clasped his arm. “Sit up.” 

He tried to move himself upright slowly, but it didn't help. The headache only worsened with violent intensity. It almost reminded him of a head injury he'd gotten before, distantly. When he finally opened his eyes, he sucked in a sharp breath to keep a hiss inside. After his world stopped blurring and glowing ten shades too bright, he noticed the cup of water and groaned. 

Fuck water. 

Sam shook the cup impatiently. “Seriously dude.” 

Dean snatched the cup and took out half of the contents in one go, before slamming it on the nightstand with more force than strictly necessary as he gave a peeved look. “Happy?” 

Sam gave a look but otherwise kept silent, tossing a Gatorade onto his brother's lap in passing. The orange beverage was not the best, but still less annoying than water. His head hurt, his back itched, he felt like shit all around. Something nagged at him, but he'd figure it out later.

Sam was watching him, he realized. 

“What.” Dean demanded.

“Last time you woke up like this, it was grounds for a drop.” Sam said.

“You think this is that?” Dean groaned, exasperated.

“Yes. I  _ know  _ it's a drop and I'm not going to wait until you're barfing your brains out and bad mouthing Dad to catch on and help you out.” Sam insisted. 

Dean paled and wouldn't meet Sam's eyes. “Shut up, man.” 

Sam didn't speak again, but instead grabbed the cup of water and refilled it for him, holding it out patiently.

Dean held an expression between sulking and seething as he snatched the cup again to chug another ¾ of the contents.

Sam frowned, all of his features contracted inward for a brief moment before settling into the deep set downward pull of lips. “Sip it.”

“This cup is like what, 6 ounces? How’dya sip that?” Dean scoffed, incredulous.

Sam gave a glare. He took the Gatorade, sized up how much was left, and chugged six gulps worth.

“Dude!” Dean yelled.

“If you're going to act like a toddler, I'll treat you like one.” Sam hummed as he dumped the water from the cup into the jug, and went to the sink, filling the rest of the deficit of the Gatorade-water mix.

He shook the bottle on his way back to his obviously irate brother with a smirk on his face, handing it back to him.

“You son of a bitch.” Dean huffed, tossing the watered down concoction behind him on the bed.

Just as he did, a pack of crackers hit him square in the chest and dropped gracelessly into his lap. 

“And while you're at it, eat those.”

Dean decided not to object as he gorged on crackers. At least those were edible.

Sam shrugged on a coat. “I'm going to the diner. I'll bring you something back.” 

Dean nodded around a mouth full of mashed cracker. “Fine. Pancakes.” 

Sam didn't give a response, but he's skeptical to leave Dean, so he hurries along.

He finds a McDonald's and goes through the drive thru, head in a daze the whole while. Honestly, he knows Dean will have something to say about going to a fast food joint but that's the only thing in these parts that's got a to go option. Besides, he can just shove it in his face if he's still acting like a sick toddler.

On the way back he can't help but realize something is off. Why did Dean go so far last night if he's been getting help elsewhere? And frequently, it seemed. Are they not as good? Does he not feel safe? He had a horrible feeling about it all, but he couldn't talk Dean out of it, not without causing a catastrophe. So, for now, he can only let the nagging feeling go and nurse his brother back to health.

He comes back with bags in tow, but Dean isn't where Sam left him. Hastily thrown off sheets and a puddle of leaky Gatorade send him into a defensive panic.

“Dean?” he calls.

“Yeah.” Dean answers, voice rugged, from the bathroom.

Sam practically drops the food on the table, crossing the room in great hurried strides. He found Dean draped over the tub, the cracker sleeve in hand and crackers strewn about, trying to cool himself off. A quick glance in the toilet showed bile but no actual vomit. Sam squatted down to Dean's level, checked his face for fever and any other disconcerting symptoms. 

Dean was having trouble keeping up, reaction time abysmal and his blurred and otherwise uncooperative senses weren't helping. His ears rang, his sight blurred to hell and back, and he felt colder than he's ever been, his whole body on pins and needles.

“Can you stand?” Sam asked, even though he was already hoisting Dean up.

Dean didn't answer, too busy trying to blink the bleariness away.

Sam allowed him to try, but after a beat too long, he lifted Dean up and carried him to the table. A mild wordless protest came from Dean, but by the time he'd filled his lungs and let out a pitiful sound of disagreement he was being put on the bed anyway.

“Can you eat? The eggs and toast won't keep.” Sam said.

Dean shrugged, even though he'd rather not. He didn't need Sam throwing a hissy fit though, so sure, choking down some eggs and toast is truly the lesser of two evils. 

Sam handed him his plate, and promptly went to clean the stain on the carpet. “What happened?”

“thought I was gonna puke.” Dean said around a mouthful of egg, “But it wasn't coming up. Felt so bad. And it still wasn't happening. So I made it happen. Sorta.” 

Sam looked up from the stain, a short sigh left him before he went to toss the soaked towels into the sink for ringing out later. “We're not taking any cases with you like this.”

Dean scoffed. “You can take one if you want man. I don't need a nurse.” 

“But you clearly do. There's bruises forming on your arms. I assume you bumped into stuff on the trip to the bathroom.” Sam insisted.

“Just once.” Dean defended with a bit of a huff.

“Hard enough to bruise.” Sam restated, arms crossed in finality.

“Fuck you, Mary Poppins.” Dean pulled the covers over himself dramatically.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Even your insults are off base.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I have decided to go with a wonderful suggestion from a reviewer and name the trucker Al. He might debut next chapter, or the chapter after.


	3. Off Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers are stubborn and Al comes into play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly it's going to probably go downhill for Dean from here on out.

Things got back to normal quickly, as far as routine. On the front of being in sync, however, they were both slightly dissonant. The past week has been nothing but doors slammed slightly out of unison, out of step cadences, missed beer tosses, and a subtle but jarring rift being wedged between the Winchesters. 

They were on the road now, leaving town after a barely successful hunt. Sam leaned against the passenger door, eyes closed. He wasn't asleep, the hunt was too close behind them. He trembled just slightly all over from the rush, and the pain. He'd broken a few fingers and even hurt his shoulder in the squabble. 

Dean was driving, but only alert enough to understand the road in front of him. All other brain power was devoted to worry about Sam and the itch under his skin. He needed to set Sam's fingers and get that painful looking crook out of his shoulder, among cleaning up the cuts littered about his back. But Dean also needed to find a town with a club, just in case.

The fight wasn't enough to soothe him. If anything it only made him more aware of how wound up he's been over the past week and a half. He sighed slowly and softly enough to not bother Sam. He doubts anyone would take him, though. Not with the big welts on his own back from the spirit slamming him against the wall god knows how many damn times. The limp he could pass off, even if he wasn't gay. The swollen eye could probably go down by this time tomorrow night. Nothing could be done for the busted lip, but maybe he could play that off too.

He found a small town that had a club by pure chance, and parked at the first hotel he saw. “Sam. We're here.” He tapped at his brother's shoulder. 

Sam made a face but did indeed force himself from the car with no fuss. Dean was already going to the lobby for keys while Sam waited, leaning on Baby as he tried to stay awake. 

Dean waved him in when he'd gotten to their room number. Sam sat in the chair and Dean went back out for the medical kit. 

“Let's see those fingers, Sammy.” Dean said as he kicked the door closed. 

Sam held his hand out, face already set for the pain to come. Two dislocations and three really close sprains, instead of the breaks they thought. 

“On three.” Dean said, grasping the most injured individual finger, with intent to work his way down.

Sam took in a breath.

“One.” Dean said. “Tw-” he began as he pulled the finger to its appropriate place and straightened it out accordingly in two swift motions. 

Sam grunted as the wet pops mingled with the sounds of the settling motel room and distant parking lot.

Dean gave a sympathetic pause for Sam to catch his breath, and repeated the process for the remaining fingers. 

Sam's eyes were large and owlish by the time he'd gotten to his shoulder. He shuddered and held up his hands for a break. “Needa drink.” he said on a shaky breath.

Dean nodded, handing him a bottle of Jack and two glasses. Sam was still practically vibrating, but his over pour of the shot glasses was no mistake. He knocked back three glasses to Dean's one to bolster his courage, and hopefully his pain tolerance.

He nodded at Dean when he was ready, face setting again. Dean didn't count this time, instead opting to wait a beat and then jerk the shoulder back into its rightful position before Sam could tense and make it worse. Sam slammed his free hand down on the table, injured fingers be damned. The glasses clanked from the force as Sam held in a howl, choosing instead to let out a choked off grunt and a sharp click of his teeth. 

Dean was apologetic, truly, but it also had to be done. He wondered if this is how Sam felt, when they had the scene thing going. Hurting someone because they needed it, even if you didn't like it. He was shaken out of his thoughts when Sam turned to expose the cuts on his back. 

“We need to get you a cast. Think you'll be fine or do we need to go now?” Dean asked, threading the needle.

Sam downed more alcohol without a second thought. “I'll wait.”

“You sure? Cause you waltz in there with floss holding your back together and we'll be in for it.” Dean said.

“Shut up and get to it, Jerk.” Sam scoffed, all bark.

Dean shrugged, setting up the first stitch. “Sure thing, bitch.”

It took about fifteen minutes, sanitation, sewing together and searching for embedded shards of glass and wood. Dean was so relieved when the last stitch was done. 

Sam was already moving to look Dean over. “Sit down.” 

Dean didn't have it in him to fight. He just wanted to go to bed, really. He practically threw himself into the chair as Sam looked him over. Dean would've been worried about the amount Sam drank, if he hadn't seen him down twice as much and still be an impressive shot. The fun thing about Sam, he thinks, is that even though you'd never expect it, he could match Dean drink for drink. 

Instead of worrying over Sam being able to take care of him, he just held the ice pack over his face as Sam checked over him. He checked out completely, but Sam clasped a hand on his shoulder. “Stand up, let me see your back.”

Dean swallowed thickly at that. The urge was still inside him, and Sam had the “pre-scene” tone of voice. He stood, ignoring his shaky knees, shedding the open flannel and tee for  _ inspection _ , he reminded himself firmly.

Sam hardly noticed, but was sucked in by the welts on Dean's backside. He'd been shoved up against the wall plenty, and it was apparent he'd been clipped by a few other things along the edges. He was one big welt from shoulders to hips, with a few standing out more than the rest, discoloration fierce reds and royal purples. 

He felt the urge to touch. In fact, the tremble Dean gave was the only reason he'd realized he had ran a hand down his back completely. He felt...so close to Dean in that moment it was like breathing again after being strangled. It made him so aware of what he'd already known he missed. The texture changes of Dean's skin was so familiar. Bullet holes that healed, scars, and now the firm uneven planes of the hierarchy of pain that joined them.

Dean felt himself shake like a leaf when Sam touched him. His eyes widened before falling shut against his will. The feeling was like water after a week in a desert. He wants to drown in it, and for a long moment, he completely forgets what he said, and resolved to do.

Sam took his hand back after a moment of startling realization that he shouldn't be doing this. Even if he finds that he wants to. “No cuts. You came out pretty clean.” he tried to cover up his guilt.

Dean came back to himself faster than he'd like when Sam pulled away. It was startling, but Sam speaking gave him something else to focus on. “You shoulda been more careful, Sam.” 

“Yeah. Stupid China cabinets.” Sam murmurs.

Dean held a smirk of agreement as he went to the bed, flopping in on his stomach without bothering to pull back the covers.

Sam shook his head but didn't bother to try to tell his brother otherwise. He put away the supplies in the first aid kit and crawled into bed himself.

“Night bitch.” 

“Good night, jerk.”

The day was a blur. Dean couldn't remember what he had for breakfast. Or the diner, for that matter. Sam watched on, concerned and frustrated. But the last straw was when Dean dropped the ball during an interview with the town sheriff.

Sam watched as Dean not only presented his FBI badge incorrectly, but also made it clear his attention span was not at its finest.

“He alright?” The sheriff asked, upon seeing Dean squinting harshly.

“Huh?” Dean nodded despite clearly not having heard what was said.

Sam gave the sheriff a look. “Excuse my partner, we had a long drive. He doesn't do well on such little sleep.”

“Right.” The sheriff didn't seem convinced, but let it go.

“Thank you for your time, give us a call if anything shakes loose.” Sam concluded, sliding the man his card.

Dean followed after him to the car. As soon as the brothers were inside, Sam pinned him with a gaze.

“What was that?”

Dean frowned. “What was what, Sam?” 

“I had to cover for you. That guy probably thinks you're drunk. Or an addict.” Sam frowned even deeper.

Dean scoffed. “Off day.”

Sam shoved him back into the seat to press against his wounds. Dean tensed for a fraction of a second, the pain exploding against his back. But the tension in his very bones absolved just as quick as it came. He sighed contentedly before he could help himself.

“You need a scene. Get one.” Sam said definitely.

Dean felt a blush rise from his chest to to ears. “You trying to give me the tingles, taking control like that?” he tried to joke.

Sam pursed his lips for a moment, before he pointed to the road. “Drop me off at the clinic. Go scout for….” he paused, unsure of what to finish with, “However it is you can be put down.”

Dean didn't object, leaving Sam to the lore as he went to waste the day away. He knew exactly where the club was, but it was still day time. So, he went to a bar to take the edge off. 

A few hours passed into the way of night, but Dean still wasn't ready to be disappointed by trying to scene with a stranger. Didn't matter, he decided after another drink. This is what he said he wanted; he's made his bed and now he's got to lie.

The drive was brief, the hole in the wall joint was decent enough from the outside. He willed himself to walk in, one foot in front of the other. This joint didn't have a stage. Or a bar. Just equipment lining the walls, a few dungeon people to make sure house rules were obeyed, a sanitation station, and people scattered about on couches, kink furniture, or even a few pets on the floor.

Wrist bracelets told who was who, doms in purple, subs in yellow, switches in red, pets in blue. Dean was given a yellow bracelet upon entry by a young woman with a smile. 

Dean frowned at the loss of the bar, but did scout out the tops from a couch he'd picked. Most were slight in frame in comparison to Sam, even the bulkier men. He always found himself making the comparison, even though it made no sense.

The cushion next to him dipped as a man he'd never seen before sat next to him, a bit close. He was about as big as Sam, maybe a bit stouter, and somehow burlier. Shoulders for days, black hair that's started to grey with age. He looked like a lumberjack. 

“You mind? You looked lonely.” he leans in to shout over the music and other noises.

Even raised, his voice was shockingly deep and gruff. 

Dean shrugged. “It's a free country, man.” he shouted back.

The lumberjack smirked. “I saw you at the bar. You looked shocked to see none here though.”

Dean looked back into his memory. No way had he missed this behemoth of a man. Not anymore than he'd miss Sam in a crowd. “Yeah. The other one I went to before had one.” 

“Some are more focused on consent than others. The ones with bars cut you off, but if it isn't there and you get your buzz before you come, it's still the same.” he shrugs. “You're good enough at holding your liquor to not be turned away. I like that.” 

He held his hand out to shake, the purple bracelet jangling from the force. “I'm Al.” 

“Dean.” he met the handshake accordingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give me comments they make me so happy. Also suggestions of any sort are always welcome,


	4. Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a new experience that overwhelms him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the dubcon kissing and bad BDSM etiquette come into play, guys.
> 
> Also, Al calls Dean baby boy, but will not refer to himself as daddy, nor will Dean refer to him as daddy.
> 
> Vaguely sexual stuff goes down in the heat of the moment, but it ends pretty quickly.

Al wasn't a bad guy, Dean decided. If anything, he was almost sure he'd be a hunter the way he carried himself.

“What do you do?” Dean asked.

“Trucker. You?” Al replied easily.

“Mechanic.” Dean said, a little hint of a smirk came to his face of what could have been.

“Explains that sweet ride you got out there. She got a name?” Al grinned back.

“She’s my Baby, man. My brother never got it, not really. But he's the egg head and I'm the grunt, so I guess it worked out.” Dean shrugged.

Al nodded easily, “My brother didn't get it either. Tell me, you the older or younger?”

“Older, by 4 years.” Dean perked up a bit, puffing out his chest minutely.

“You grow up protecting little egg head? You seem like the scrappy type.” 

“Sammy could take care of himself. It was more of how much he could tolerate. Jesus, I swear he's a saint in the making, he's so damn patient.” Dean shook his head, a fond grin taking over him. He smacked the back of his hand against Al, all smiles. “What about yours?”

Al chuckled. “Charlie is a bit of an ass, if you really wanna know. He's older by 5 years, never let me forget it either. He's traditional to a fucking tee. Two kids, a wife, fully paid off house, 9-5. Does everything by the book. Never learned to think for himself. Thinks that I'm not happy on the road, but I am.” 

Dean gave a chortle. “Yeah, sounds like a tool.”

Al looked out at the main floor, people scening in plain sight. He was particularly drawn to a dom putting nipple clamps on his male sub, to join two lines of clothes pins. The yelp and buck the sub gave, tied to a cross was positively music to the dom’s ears, as well as Al’s.

“This is pretty straight forward. Do you scene with guys?” 

Dean was shocked. He'd never actually been approached by a man about scening other than Sam, but this was  _ obviously  _ different. 

“I-I never was approached by any guy.” Dean muttered.

Al gave a suspicious look, before it softened to one of adoration. “Are you sure? I saw the way you've been walking.”

Dean flushed. 

“That blush is something fierce. Sure you just haven't been paying attention?” Al teased.

Dean shook his head. “Always women.”

“Allow me to be your first. I can tell, the women you find don't do a damn thing for you.” Al extended a hand.

Dean couldn't even think. Was he really doing this? Could Al really be all that different? Could Dean finally be brought down like he needed with someone like Al? He'd never scened with a man before. What if he tried to fuck him? A good third of his scenes ended in sex nowadays. He could always say no. Safeword out if things got too intense. He tensed up a little and nodded. He's thinking too much. “I'll try anything once.”

Al grinned broadly as he clapped Dean on the back. “Atta boy!”

“Any private rooms, though?”

“You ashamed of me?” Al teased.

“N-no. I just...never scene in the open.” Dean flushed.

Al waved him over to a hallway he didn't even know existed, six rooms in total and a bathroom at the end of the hall. He took a vacant room and held the door open for Dean.

The room was lush, in that cheeky BDSM kinda way. Two colors, red and black, everywhere, tile floors, and a few small rugs here and there. A mirror on the ceiling, a dresser, and a wall full of toys.

Dean stalked in, placing himself on the bed. Al followed, looking at him. 

“Limits, kinks.” he said briskly.

“Painplay. Lots of it. Not into showers and scat. Safeword is red.” Dean murmured dutifully. 

At this, Al nodded thoughtfully, hungrily. “How are you on marking? What's your tolerance?”

“Mark me anywhere that's covered, man. And as far as tolerance, just go at it. I'll let you know if you need to back off. Also, don't ask about any scars you see.”

Al nodded again, eyes hungry, even if the scar comment was particularly curious. “Pick any of the toys you don't want, set them to the side.”

Dean scanned the wall immediately, eyes squinted carefully in thought. He left the bed, taking away a pinwheel, to place onto the dresser, out of reach and sight. Next came some nipple clamps, followed by a paddle with tendering points on it with the moniker of “SLUT” written backward. He continued to filter out more extreme toys, finally satisfied with the selection of things he could enjoy, tolerate, or try at least once.

Al stood watch the whole time, seeing how simple his play was in comparison to some of the other partners he'd experienced. He was amused, if the crooked grin was anything to go by. Dean was beautiful. Big green eyes, tall, but still shorter than Al himself, and most importantly, that deep burning desire for someone to work him over. Al felt his mouth water. He absolutely wanted Dean for himself.

Dean turned back, looking rather insecure of this whole thing, but shuffling himself back to the bed.

“Get undressed, kid.” Al hummed, looking over the toys again.

He'd eyed the flogger he'd left heavily. A whip seemed interesting too, but it was one of the ones that only stung a little instead of anything good. He'd considered his choices for a moment, grabbing a paddle to start. He turned around again to see the boy naked, save for his briefs, clothes folded on the bed beside him.

Al bit his own lip to keep from sighing in admiration at that beautiful and scarred body before him. “Spanking too intimate for a first time?”

Dean considered it, his freckles becoming more prominent as a blush rose from his chest to his ears. “How do you wanna do it? I don't know if I could handle over your lap, but if I'm on the bed it might be fine.” 

Al nods. “Get yourself ready.”

Dean was definitely anxious, but that's never stopped him before. He stretched out on the bed, his stomach flush to the soft sheets. He heard Al come forward. He wondered if he made his steps heavy on purpose, but Al is feeling him up before he can think to ask.

Dean’s mind short circuited. This is so different than the usual, he almost flinched away from the shock of Al’s rough, large calloused fingers roaming over his back and shoulders. He swallowed thickly at the tender touch going lower.

“I want to give you a massage first. Then a warm up.  _ Then  _ I would really like to give you the paddle. You good with that plan?” 

Dean nodded, at a loss for words. 

The massage was nice, he'll admit. Al sat at his side, rubbing away tension from his neck all the way down to his hips. It was slow, deep, and sensual. All of Al’s focus was on Dean alone, intimately making him a boneless pile of mush. The cool feeling of relaxation creeped into Dean's brain and bones like fog to a cemetery.

Al placed a hand to the small of Dean's back, trailing down slowly to the curve of his ass. “You ready for warm up?” 

Dean nodded. “Mmmmhm.” 

He could hear the amused smirk in Al’s voice as he replied. “Alright, kid. Hold onto this.” 

A plush object was gently pushed into Dean's arms, which he opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) to find a pillow, it's red satin cover shone brightly at him. Before he could question why he needed it, he found himself very much being felt up, Al’s large, warm hands pawing at him roughly.

The pillow let out an audible woof as Dean properly wrangled the life out of it in his shock. He closed his eyes, trying to think himself through it.  _ ‘It’s just a scene. I'm in control. I'm really in control.’  _

Al paused. “Color?”

Dean nearly jumped. “Green…” he said after a moment of thought.

Al made no move to continue, arms crossed instead of on Dean's rear.

Dean risked a peak back at the older male. The tense silence stretched on like taffy, resilient and thick.

“Green.” Dean said again, unable to meet his play partner’s eyes.

Al blinked, but otherwise didn't move. 

Dean pursed, then licked his lips, shifting to look Al in the eye, tone strong and unwavering. “ _ Green _ .” 

Al practically sprang to action, grinning broadly as he continued his warm up. “Good boy.”

Dean blushed again, but this time didn't strangle the pillow with his forearms. The praise gave a tingle in his belly, like usual, but this time stronger. He'd probably think about it later. Way later.

Al seemed content with the rather handsy part of the warm up, looking up at Dean pointedly. “Warm up is almost done. Can I give you a few warm up spanks, just with my hands?”

Dean groaned, wiggling into the sheets to push his brief clad ass into the air. “Hit me already.” 

Al gave him a firm swat with the paddle. “Who is the dom here?”

Dean jolted, a gasp escaped him. “Y-you, Sir.” he said, surprising himself.

Al flipped him over onto his back, towering over him. “That's right. That means I am responsible for you. If I feel like checking in every two seconds, what am I gonna do?”

Dean was wide eyed and breathless. The man had just tossed him like he was nothing. “Check in every two seconds, Sir.”

“Exactly right, boy. And what do  _ you _ do when I check in?” he practically growled.

“Answer?” Dean said, propping himself up on his elbows.

Al shoved him down again with his free hand. “Wrong. You answer  _ truthfully. _ ”

Dean nodded, wide eyed. “Yessir.” he practically whispered. 

Al let that thought sink into Dean’s head for a moment before he moved to run a hand through Dean’s hair. The younger man didn't flinch, but he didn't completely relax at the touch either. Smart boy. Al took the other pillow on the bed in hand.

“Get into position.”

Dean hesitantly rolled over, keeping his eyes on Al and the pillow in hand. Al seemed pleased with this, handing the pillow to Dean.

“Put it under your hips.” he said.

Dean obliged him, quietly.

Al looked at the round, underwear clad ass laid before him. He sucked his lips to get his bearings, dispel all the absolutely filthy thoughts in his head. He gave Dean a warning, pressing his hand to the other’s left cheek, a caress, before bringing his hand down with conviction.

Dean took in a sharp breath through his nose, muscles tensing for a second before he forced them to relax. 

The right cheek was next, once he'd recovered. Al set up a predictable rhythm, alternating cheek to cheek. He looked up at Dean somewhere around the twentieth smack to find him gripping the first pillow, eyes screwed shut and ears burning, just starting to get the courage to push back into the smacks.

He was so adorable, Lord help him.

The smacks stopped. Dean cracked open an eye after a moment, confused. 

Al just stared at him, for a moment, before moving again. He pressed the paddle against the globes of his ass, then drug it down to the tops of his thighs where he could feel the texture of the instrument.

“Color.”

“Green.” Dean rasped. He sounded so wrecked already.

Al started up the rhythm again. The hits not much harder than what he was doing with his hands, but gradually increasing in intensity.

Dean was panting again in no time, starting to fist the cover of the satin pillow in his arms, wriggling around just slightly. The movement was minimal, but enough to get his cock interested. 

Al couldn't help but grin at the clear sign of the man getting aroused. He continued his administrations, content to watch the boy squirm.

“Don't hold it in, I want to hear you.” Al punctuated his request with a rather hard smack.

Dean felt his entire body seize up, a mix of a grunt and a yelp escaped him as the force made his member rub against the pillow there. Before he could so much as be embarrassed, another hit rained down. He found the time to be embarrassed when he understood he'd let out a moan at it.

Moan after moan he forced out of Dean, it only made him want the younger man more and more. He couldn't take it. He moved himself to the bed, grabbing Dean's ass by the handfuls and digging his nails in. The whimper and moan he got was just too beautiful to stop.

“Absolutely perfect, baby boy.” Al purred, making Dean look at him.

Dean was a ragged, horny mess. Hair mussed, face and ass redder than a fire truck, cock screaming for attention, and thoroughly out of it. He felt so unlike himself, but so,  _ so  _ good.

Al could hardly contain himself, their faces inches apart. “I wanna kiss you, Dean.” he wanted to  _ devour  _ Dean. 

Dean looked up at him, those absolutely fucked out green eyes full of need. He hardly seemed to consider it, leaning in as he closed his eyes. Al met him, a mess of tongues and clacking teeth. Dean gave little whimpers and moans that made Al feel like he was dying of need. 

Before either man knew what was happening, Al had somehow ended up sitting upright on the bed with Dean straddling his lap, Dean clutching the open flannel Al had on for dear life while Al had bruising handfuls of Dean’s abused ass. 

Al grinned when he noticed Dean giving erratic, aborted tiny trusts against him. He licked into the boy’s mouth, tongue putting pressure against the roof before going back to a proper makeout, using his handfuls of Dean to get him to properly rut against him.

Dean found himself giving an absolutely scandalous moan at Al doing that, along with ripping one of the buttons off his flannel when his hands clenched. It hurt. It felt good. He felt so taken care of, put in his place. He always did go for dominant types, but so much of this was still so new. 

“Yellow.” he managed to force out, panting against Al’s shoulder.

Al took his hands away from Dean’s rear to rub at his back, demeanor completely different from in scene. “What is it? The grinding a bit too much?”

Dean nodded, a small wounded whimper escaped him, still trying to catch his breath. The words were too far away. It was a miracle he got out yellow at all. 

Al shushed him, gently swaying them to and fro, rubbing away the tension in his back. “You did good speaking up, baby boy.”

Dean finally relaxed, slumping against him bonelessly. He should be angry. Mad that this guy calls him that. Disgusted he kissed another guy when he's all about chicks. But he isn't. He feels….well cared for. It doesn't make sense. Now that he's out of the moment,  _ nothing  _ makes sense.

He sighed deeply against the older man. He doesn't have the energy to be distressed about this right now.

“You wanna call it a night.” Al said. “Let's get you taken care of and then you can go.” 

Dean allowed himself to be moved like a ragdoll as Al laid him down on his stomach. Another slow massage, from his temples all the way down to his toes. Dean was hardly aware of when Al left the bed, but was brought back to reality when the straw of a juice box tapped against the corner of his mouth two or three times. He sucked lazily. 

Shortly thereafter, a few slices of banana and chocolate were hand fed to him patiently. 

“Feeling better, Dean?” 

He nodded.

“I'm about to put cream on, alright?” he warned.

Dean gave a grunt of confirmation, but frowned at his underwear being tugged down. He kept silent, patiently waiting for the situation and stinging to end.

A gentle pat of the thigh told him when Al was finished. His hand drifted up to Dean's upper back, staying there until he came back to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, concerns, feedback, ideas, leave below.
> 
>  
> 
> If you have any kinks or scene ideas you want Al to have or do with Dean, tell me. If you have an idea for something in the series, tell me. 
> 
> Tell me what your favorite part of the chapter was. I admit I had a hard time writing the smut-ish bits but they quickly calmed down which was great.


	5. The Last Free Acts of Dean Winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean signs away his life, and there's not a crossroader in sight to blame for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been away, a lot of stuff was happening. But, I'm back with a key chapter in this whole development, which i needed to be better than my first draft.

Dean found himself thinking about last night. He doesn't remember how he got back, but he knows Baby is outside the hotel sitting pretty. He's in the bathroom, shaving as he thinks about what happened. He woke up sore, confused, and with ghosts of Al’s hands all over him. His lips, ass, chest, all reminders of something he doesn't understand.

Halfway through his shave, he stared at his lips. The bottom one was still slightly swollen from Al. Or, he thinks so, anyway. He touched his lips carefully, still feeling the older man's lips and stubble, just enough to feel his face heat. A chill went through him. He liked it, being with Al. Even the kissing. But why? Would he do it again? Why had he agreed in the first place? Was he  _ that  _ horny? 

He shook his head. Too much to think about. He noticed a slip of paper in his pocket with a frown. Did he get a ticket last night?

Instead he found a note.  _ ‘Dean, I'm sorry your first time like this wasn't better. I pushed too hard because I was just so caught up. Hope you won't let it spoil you. Al.’  _ His number was written near the bottom of the paper, but far from the actual end of the note, almost like he hadn't wanted Dean to see it.

Dean frowned at the thought. What does that even mean? Or is it as flat out as Al makes it look?

He walked back to the main room, ignoring Sam to put the number in his phone.

_ “How’d I get home?”  _ Dean demanded.

A few moments passed, Dean’s nerves on pins and needles. 

_ “You don't remember. K, you dozed off after I put cream on your ass. So I let you sleep for abt ½ hr to get you back. When you woke up you seemed lucid enough. Talkin, jokin, etc.. made you stay a little longer, then you were gone.”  _

Dean stared at the phone, frowning. Was he gay? Bi? He liked chicks. He was all about ladies. He loved boobs! And hips. And curves. But he found himself thinking that stubble and broad shoulders weren't bad on other guys. The frown deepened, which caught Sam’s attention.

“Dude, did you find out you got crabs?” Sam joked.

Dean looked up, visibly startled and confused. “Fuck you, bitch.” he said when he'd cleared his head.

Sam gave a quirk of the lips. “Don't you have those new kink partners for that, jerk?” 

Dean scoffed, scowled as he put on and laced up his boots. He needs to get out of this city, like yesterday. If Sam had any concerns when Dean took baby out with no warning or word of goodbye, it didn't matter anyway. 

It was at a red light that Dean’s phone buzzed. 

_ “Dean? You good?”  _

The Winchester stared at his phone a moment before he bothered to respond.  _ “Yea” _

The light changed, so Dean drove. Into the nearest gas station to fill up and get some newspapers. 

_ “your sure? I didn't spoil you for scening, did i?” _

Dean stared at the text for a long time. Felt like fucking hours. What was he going to say to Al?

_ “It's ok. I just never did any of that stuff before. Always women.”  _ he found himself frowning as he sent the message.

A few minutes later, another buzz.  _ “Oh Jesus you were serious.”  _

The Winchester felt a flash of annoyance.  _ “What, whyd you think I was lying? I'm not some chick playing hard to get, asshole.” _

Dean glared at his phone intently until it buzzed again.  _ “Don't take this wrong but I dunno, you seem too pretty to be just straight.” _

Dean scowled.  _ “Im. NOT. gay.”  _

Immediately thereafter.  _ “No one said you were. You just look like a particularly fit twink is all.” _

Jesus fucking hell, this was the final straw. Dean jammed his phone in his pocket, threw the papers he bought in the trash, and went to the bar. It was the Winchester way, anyhow. 

Dean was 6 drinks deep into his bar tab when a burly man sat next to him. He wasn't drunk enough for this shit, so he ignored the man in favor of more liquor. 

“Aw, Deanie, don't be like that.” he heard.

For a moment, Dean frowned, before he turned to the barkeep with a grin and a wink. “Hey, sugar, line me up.” 

The bartender moved to set up 6 shots when Al held out a hand to stop her. She hesitated.

Dean held out a clip of money. “I'm good for it. Pour.” 

Al shook his head, and snatched away the clip, a dismissive wave to the woman at the bar. The woman conveniently found another customer a few seats away as Dean turned to Al. 

“Now Dean-” Al started.

“No, you fucking listen to me.” Dean cut in, voice a low growl. “You don't fucking show up where I am and take control like that. I'm a grown ass man and you aren't my dom, or even my fucking dad.” Dean looked pensive at the mention of John, even though he'd been the one to bring it up. 

Al seemed didn't seem phased. “You're right. But, do I gotta be to make sure you don't drink yourself to death and that you're alright?” 

Dean eyed him. “Yeah, probably.”

“Fine.” Al said simply.

Dean was so foolish to think that was the end of it. But, he wasn't exactly sober either. 

“So you're gonna fuck off, now, right?” he asked, casual.

“Nah.” Al fought the smirk itching to come to his face when Dean whirled to look at him. “I'm gonna be your Dom.”

“You gotta be shitting me.” Dean swore, slack jawed.

Al allowed himself a grin. “I see you, boy. You want someone, anyone, to give you some direction. There's a hefty weight on those shoulders.”

Dean watched him, looking for any sign that he wasn't serious. To say he was stumped when he couldn't find any is a rather vast understatement. 

Al didn't even seem to blink at Dean's faltering face. “Don't give me that long mug. You won't just roll over and take it. I like that, a spitfire sub. Pick a game. If I win, I'm your Dom. If you win, you can get anything you want from me.” he gave Dean a wink, “I provide for my subs, though, so really it's a win-win for you.”

Dean frowned, clearly unimpressed if his curled lip was anything to go by. “Round of pool.” 

Al rose from his stool, sizing Dean up. “How much have you had?” 

“Clearly not enough.” Dean shook his head as he made his way over to the vacant table. 

Al followed after his soon to be sub, amused by the moxie Dean exuded. 

“Tell you what, old timer. You break.” Dean said, leaning on his pool stick. 

Al held in a smirk. “Yeah, alright.”

The clack of the balls brought out a calmness in Dean. He'd hustled pool ever since he could get into bars with fake ID’s. It's fond memories of assholes forking over their money and valuables, only to get angry when they realize they've been had. A few would try to rough him up, but he could always handle himself. The best prize was one you stole or fought dirty for.

But, Dean hadn't been paying attention. Al is good at this. Almost as good as he is. The older man had all but cleaned house at this point, and it was then that Dean allowed himself to be impressed and alarmed. He was terribly, utterly, fucked. This is what he gets for showmanship, he supposes.

Al caught a glimpse of the younger man's face, and grinned. “You can just forfeit now, Deanie boy.” 

Dean huffed before a little smirk took its place. “Put your money where your mouth is, geezer, best outta three.” 

“You got it, kid.” Al laughed.

“Long as I go first next round, asshat.” Dean demanded.

Al shrugged as he sunk the last ball in the pocket. “You're only delaying the inevitable.”

Turns out, Al might very well have Dean by the short and curlies. The game is tied by the third round. They're setting up again when Al pulls a coin from his wallet. 

“Heads? Tails?” he offers.

Dean holds out his hand for the dime. 

Al seemed to just barely hold back a chuckle. “You think I'd try to scam you?”

Dean doesn't answer, content to find the ten cent piece in his hand. It's real, he concluded, running his hand over both sides. He flicked the coin back at Al with his thumb. “Tails.”

Al plucked the coin out of the air, hands cuffed around it. He grin that washed over his face was enough to know it'd been heads.

“Last chance to give up.” Al teased.

“Break before you go into cardiac arrest.” Dean scoffed.

Al shrugged. “Sure thing, sugar.”

Al wasn't about pulling his punches. He knew what Dean was capable of, and what that meant if he slacked off even for a moment. The older man wanted Dean, had since the second he stepped foot into the club and understood that he didn't have to just force himself to move on. This man would be his sub, no two ways about it.

Dean was officially getting a run for his money. The game was close, but Dean just wasn't able to pull ahead and keep himself there. Every time he got close, things just went Al’s way. It was infuriating, and he'd lost count of how many times he wanted to break his stick. Whatever, this isn't just about being good at pool, or hustling him. This was about some dick wad thinking that he could own him and control him without his say. The idea that he wasn't a grown ass man who could take care of himself. Like he wasn't saving the world.

Nonetheless, that anger was no good. It held him back and shut his eyes to the fact that maybe, Al wasn't wrong. He might have been an absolute douche, but no, he wasn't mistaken that Dean is in fact a mess. That burned him up inside that a random stranger understood that really and truly, he wasn't okay.

He lost knowing that the worst idea was agreeing to this in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously guys, don't bet anything you're not willing to lose. Also. The next chapter will be dialogue heavy because they'll be discussing their new dynamic and how that will work out between the two of them with their schedules and time on the road. That was almost included in this chapter, but I doubted it would have been the best idea.


	6. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Al talk(not enough) about parameters. Tw-under negotiated kink practices and a tiny peek at Al's true colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to come back. I had this chapter mostly written but some chaos flew into my life and kidnapped my will to live. Still don't have it and it's never coming back but truth be told I figured out how to adapt.

Al ushered Dean back to the bar, smug and self satisfied. Dean was still reeling, there was something wrong here, but he didn't know where to even begin questioning things.

“Tell me your typical schedule.” Al started.

Dean was too much in a daze to think much of it. “Wake up at 5, get ready for the day, eat breakfast whenever we land in a town, look for work, get dinner eventually, go to bed around 1.” 

Al frowned as he ordered a beer for himself. “Four hours of sleep? What are you, a graveyard mechanic?”

Dean held back a scowl. “Pretty much, sure.”

“You're gonna get more sleep, first off.” he countered, confident and demanding.

“I sleep just fine. There's other shit for me to do.” Dean scoffed.

“Like what? What are you doing  _ twenty  _ hours a day?” Al challenged, impatiently waiting for this grand excuse Dean was about to serve him.

“I'm a traveling mechanic, asshat. I gotta find parts. Find work. Do research on cars I don't know enough about to be comfortable working on yet. Take care of my brother.” Dean felt himself growing red in the face with the boiling ire in his stomach.

“Too bad. Your brother’s a grown man, and should fend for himself. You need more sleep. How often do you travel?” Al dismissed the argument with ease.

“Buy me a beer and I'll tell you.” Dean challenged, the cheek helped him settle. He'd hate to get banned from  _ another  _ bar.

“Bar keep, get my friend here something  _ non  _ alcoholic.” The older man smirked, daring Dean to tell her no.

John didn't raise any fucking bitch, that much the Winchester boys could say in his favor. Dean swiveled to meet the bartender, turning up the charm.

“Ignore my friend here, beautiful. Despite what he thinks, I can hold my liquor better than I can tell you.”

“You hold your liquor like a ten pound bag holds fifteen.” Al scoffed.

“That's enough outta you, old timer.” Dean snapped.

A club soda was put in front of him. He stared it down, a blatant refusal to drink it. Al took it instead, downed half the glass as he made eye contact with his sub. 

“There,” he slid the drink back over to dean, “convinced it isn't poisoned?”

Dean scoffed. 

The tension dragged on for what felt like, and what certainly was, too long. Al met the other man's eyes with a resolve so strong and unbreaking it sent chills through Dean in the worst way possible.

“I paid for your drink, Deanie. I don't like my money to be wasted. You'll finish it, even if I have to pour it down your throat, baby boy.” Al hummed, tone airy and casual despite the frigid gaze.

Dean could take him. He could. But he doesn't want to burn more bridges than he has to. He hurts. He's tired. He just wants to fucking drown his sorrows in beer. The glass is in his hands before he has a chance to rile himself up for getting punched. He drinks the remaining beverage and looks to Al expectantly.

A smile breaks out on the trucker’s face, he claps Dean on the back. “There's my boy. I knew you could do it.” 

Dean fights back a frown, but doesn't stop him. “Can I go now?” 

“I was actually hoping we could go back to the club. To finish what we're talking about without prying ears.” 

“What's there to talk about man?” Dean barely kept himself from groaning.

“You never been someone's sub before, huh?” Al chuckled.

“No.” Dean frowned. “There some protocol or something?”

Al held back a grin. “You don't know me well enough to go back to where I'm staying. So we go to a neutral, public, kink friendly place to discuss the parameters of our new relationship. You following, pretty boy?”

Dean nodded thoughtfully, it was good for people who were less trained, he could admit. “Makes sense.”

Al stood, paid for the tab. “Good boy. Let's go.”

Dean was following without a thought. Maybe Al was right to make him stop drinking. Dean looked to Al, incredulous. 

“No.” Dean said, tone resolute.

“Dean-” Al began.

“ _ No. _ ” The Winchester growled out. “Nobody touches my Baby. Not even my  _ brother _ touches Baby.” 

Al gave Dean a look. “You've been drinking. I'm not going to let you drive anywhere. If we take your car then I'll give you the option to sober up before we talk and you can drive me back to my place before you go back to yours. That’s more than fair.” 

The Winchester honest to god pouted at the logic the man followed. He slammed the keys into his new dom’s hand and practically stomped to the passenger side door. Even faintly buzzed, the whole thing felt surreal. Him,  _ passenger side _ in Baby. He was barely incapacitated!

The engine turned over and Al backed out of the lot. 

“Woah there, Lead Foot. Ease up.” Dean said at how quickly Baby lurched forward and back.

“I’m a Trucker, Dean.” was all Al offered in explanation as he made a conscious effort to lessen the strain he was putting on Dean’s precious car.

They made it to the club at a slower pace than Al could have ever imagined, or maybe that was just Dean’s petulant nagging the whole way. He opened the passenger side for his whiny sub, much to his chagrin.

“Asshat.” Dean scoffed.

“Just get your ass to a room before I tan it.” Al said, casual and mostly amused.

Dean practically stormed in, taking his wristband and leaving Al in his dust. Al was quick to catch up, amused. He closed the door behind him while Dean busied himself with his best unimpressed body language. 

“Where do we start, Al?” Dean drolled, barely holding in a roll of his eyes.

“Sounds to me like we need to start with what will happen if you don't fine tune that attitude of yours.” Al crossed the room to be beside Dean in confident strides.

Dean held in a scoff, watched the older man. The fact that he lost still irked him. The fact that he can't drink makes him filled with a low burning ire in his belly. The thing that helped quell him was that he was definitely able to kick Al’s ass since he wasn't even properly buzzed.

Al handed Dean a bottle of water. “Sip while you listen.”

Dean eyed the man before he took the bottle, a brief, covert inspection of the top for injection holes satisfied him as he heard the tell tale crack of a sealed bottle. 

“Suspicious, aren't you?” Al chuckled. “Good, you should be. I'm not going to sugar coat this, Deanie. I think you need me. Or, at the very least some method of structure in your life. You walk around like you're half dead. Drink like a fish. And I know for a fact you only get that good at playing pool if you're hustling. Let me take care of you. I promise you won't regret it.”

Dean looked skeptical to believe a word of why he should let this happen. “You get a trial period. The second I say it's off, it is.”

Al nodded. “Safewords still apply outside of scenes, of course.”

“Good. Are we supposed to be….exclusive? Cause I don't see how that's gonna work, buddy.” Dean took another sip of water, the purse of his lips made it clear that he regretted emptying his flask prior to this conversation.

Al felt his shoulders rise and fall with the deep breath he took. “No, you won't have to be exclusive to me, unless we renegotiate at a later time. But, I expect that when our paths do cross, I have priority over any other playmates.”

Dean saw the controlled jealousy in the tension Al had, a smirk drew big across his face. “What if I want you and another top? You gonna share me then, too? I got a thing for being shared.”

“If the other dom is okay with it, and they aren't shit, then fine.” Al decided after a long moment.

Dean was having a field day. Al was so looney for him, and it was so weird, but it was nice to know that Dean could be considered attractive to men. For some weird reason he decided he wasn't going to think about.

“What do you want?” Dean asked, eyes narrowed, tone just this side of suspicious.

“You're asking what I get out of it. I'll tell you. You. I don't want you to be a one hit wonder. And I don't want you to run yourself in the ground. You're young and you think you can go forever. Trust this old fool when I say you can't. But I also know you won't unless you have to answer to someone. Why can't that person just so happen to be me?”

Dean found himself frowning around the mouth of his water as he listened. “How is this gonna play out, if we can't play frequently?”

“There are other forms of domination, Baby Boy. Not everything has to be all whips and chains and canes.” Al held his arms out to Dean, a silent demand to let him hold him.

Dean eyed the hands for a long moment, stretching on so long Al almost faltered, before he conceded and leaned into his trial dom’s touch. It was a light lean, but Al could work with that as he closed his arms around him.

“Good job.” he praised.

Dean glanced up at him, those big green eyes full of confusion but hope. Lord help him if his boy turns out to be a brat. 

“For what?” 

“I called you, and you came. You trusted me on a trial of being your dom, with your baby, with  _ you. _ ” Al nodded, clearly pleased.

Dean flushed as he murmured. “What do you want me to do?”

“Right now, I want you to keep sipping that water. When you feel up to it? Then we'll talk.”

About a half hours worth of easy talking, cuddles, and two bottles of water later, Dean asked again. “You said it ain't all chains and canes. Like you complaining I need more sleep, then?” 

“Yeah. A good morning text when you wake up, telling me where you are. How much sleep you got.” he glanced down at his boy, hummed. “How many meals a day you get anyhow?”

Dean shrugged. “Don't really stop eating.” 

“Any proper meals, or just dropping through the drive thru?” Al accused.

“Rarely drive thru. Lot of diners though.” Dean replied easily, taking a sip of his third bottle.

“I'll allow it.” Al said simply after a few moments.

“Text goodnight too. How many full meals you had. How you're feeling. Hear me and hear me well. Complete and total honesty is a must, Baby Boy.”

Dean thought about the terms. “I guess I can do that. If something gets to be too much, you'll know.”

Al nodded. “Good boy.” 

“What do I call you? During all this texting, and stuff.” Dean mumbled, unsure as he peeked up at Al from those unfair lashes.

“Whatever you're comfortable with. Al  _ is  _ my name. And it's only a trial basis so you don't have to pull out all the stops.” he ran a hand through Dean's fluffy soft hair in hopes to get the man to calm any anxieties.

His eyes fluttered and his head drooped to follow the movement, his voice soft as he pressed his head against Al’s hand for more.  “Okay, Al.”

“Attaboy.” Al grinned, happy to oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I'm honest I find it really hard to write chapter by chapter and I'm sure it shows. I'm not happy with the state of Poisoned Honey, so I'm thinking of rewriting it as one of those impossibly long but fantastically written one shots once I finish this as a draft. I've also decided to work on other instalments of the Soothing verse at the same time, since looking at Poisoned Honey as a chronological thing in the way of my oneshots greatly hindered any real progress.
> 
> As usual, if you have ideas about the Soothing series as a whole or just about PH feel free to share. 
> 
> Tell me your thoughts on Al's behavior or Dean's this chapter, or how you feel about Al's requests.
> 
> Alternatively, I talked with one of you a while back about including other characters and kinks in this verse, and after playing around with the idea for a few months I want to have a sort of half crack spin off verse where other well loved characters start to recognize what they need because of watching Dean and Sam's interactions. If you have head cannons for characters and their kinks or needs totally tell me or even converse amongst yourselves.

**Author's Note:**

> Always feel free to drop ideas. Or help out a poor artist/writer. http://ko-fi.com/lencrestmere


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